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Disgust rolls through me. Sitting among their belongings surrounded by memories, I’m disappointed he left, that Daniel didn’t make me stay.
I shove off the bed in anger and dump out my bag. Clothes, toiletries, and my camera tumble out onto the pale-pink duvet.
Reaching out, I grab the digital camera and press the power button to bring it to life. The screen flicks on quickly, and I find my finger moving to the arrowed button that brings my photos to view without thinking of it. My face along with Amy’s and Laura’s smile back at me, huddled close in the dark main room of the cabin; it was the last photo I took Friday night.
My throat closes at the memory of what came only a few hours later, images run behind my closed eyelids. I don’t need photos of that. I will never forget, no matter how much I try.
I suck in a shaky breath and press the back button, turning to the next photo, and the next, and the next until I’m back to the first image. All twelve photographs stab at me, one by one, each more painful than the last.
The photos keep revolving, my finger pressing without my permission, my eyes search each image as if I could bring them to life if I look hard enough.
I’m on the fourth image for probably the eighth time when my eyes catch something in the background. I zoom in past the image of myself smiling at the camera and close in on the trees.
Holy fuck.
There’s something in the woods behind me, someone.
Daniel.
Crouched next to a tree, he blends in with the forest floor, his camouflage clothing making it almost impossible for me to find him, almost.
I zoom out a little. I don’t need to go far before I find who I’m looking for. Both Michael and Kaleb are close by.
Had they watched us all day? Stalked us before coming to the camp that night? Should I tell someone?
I’m confused. My heart and my head are at war, and neither was coming out on top, but both were left bloody and bruised by the time I can tear myself away from the camera.
I need to get away—away from this room, away from that camera, and away from deciding what the right thing to do is.
Quickly, I grab the clothes hamper, shoving everything I took on the trip in, even those that didn’t get worn.
I lock all thoughts of Daniel and his family in my dorm room along with the camera when I lock the door. Quickening my steps, I keep my head dropped low and don’t stop until I’m at the campus laundry.
Having done this a thousand times, I move on autopilot, my brain happy for my body to take over.
I don’t think about Daniel again until I’m tucked up in bed later that night, the room as dark as my soul. My face is wet with tears as I stare at the screen on my camera. The war is still going on inside me.
I’ve gone over these images dozens of times in the past few hours, seeking out the face of the man who turned my world upside down.
He’s in two of them.
Behind me, always hidden and always watching. Like he knew what Dale would try to do.Like he was looking out for me.
That thought makes me do it. My breath stops as I press the trash icon. In a trance, I stare as if it is someone else doing it, their finger making all of the images disappear.
Memory card empty.I blink at the blurry words.
No one else is here. I did this. I just deleted the evidence. I deleted my friends’ faces.
Turning, I place the camera onto the small nightstand. The first sob is followed by the next quickly, and before I know it, I’m sucking in air, trying not to choke on my grief and loss. But mostly, I cry for what I don’t have . . . regret.
* * *
“You can say anything here, Charlotte. This is a safe place.”
My fingers twitch at the name, but I don’t have the energy to correct him. I don’t have the energy for anything.
The past few days have blended into one giant blur of trying to keep one foot in front of the other.
